


Red Sky At Morning

by avigil



Series: ashes to ashes, blood to dust companion fics [1]
Category: Original Campaign - Fandom, Original Work, Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: this is how I cope with the actual campaign
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-09-16 01:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avigil/pseuds/avigil
Summary: The only thing worse than his sister's disapperance was the dark visage of her lifeless face, and Jesús knew the visions were only the beginning of something...painful.





	1. La Visión

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skylamps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylamps/gifts).



When Jesús and his sister were children, they would tell anyone who would listen about their ‘special talent’.  
Their mother laughed it off as the imaginings of a child’s mind, like an imaginary friend or a game of pretend, and never paid it any mind. When the pair stopped bringing it up at dinner, she assumed it had vanished with age as she thought it would. It was a funny little thing, something to laugh at later in life.  
When the memory of it surfaced now, however, it wasn’t really that funny. 

The ‘special talent’, you see, was that the Rodriguez twins believed they could hear each other’s thoughts. They never once professed to being able to read all minds, simply each other’s. They would sit silent across the room, saying nothing aloud, only to burst into simultaneous laughter and tell their questioning parents that a joke had been silently shared…. and no they wouldn’t repeat it. 

In truth, as an adult Jesús was not convinced of any supernatural abilities and shared his mothers assumption. Now, as he sat in the quiet living room of his childhood home, he wished for nothing more than the fantasy to have been true.  
He sat on the couch, his blanket draped over his slumped shoulders, and his eyes wandered the patterns in the ceiling. 

It had been about a week since Jesús had last heard from his sister, and he knew he shouldn’t be as worried as he was. She was an adult, busy with classes and a social life he didn’t share, and she had gone off on her own for longer. A week was nothing compared to the ski trip she took with a group of friends, or the month she didn’t call home. Medical school wasn’t an easy obstacle on the horizon. 

But this…. this felt different.  
This felt dangerous. 

It was as if a sinkhole has opened up in his stomach and his guts were bathing in worry. When he closed his eyes, he could see her soft, round face frozen in an agonized expression. Sometimes the image was blurry in his mind's eye,, just a blur of dark eyes and corpse-pale skin, while other times he could almost feel the ragged tear in her throat and the drying blood on her chest.  
His hands shook against his will.  
His temples throbbed something horrid, like a bruise was forming under against the bony plates of his skull. 

She didn’t answer any of his calls. She didn’t respond to a single text.  
Jesús was certain his twin sister was dead, or worse. 

The most painful part of it was it seemed only he was concerned enough to dwell on her wellbeing. 

“She’s a good girl, she’s alright.” Their mother had hummed with a smile when he brought it up to her.  
“The two of you have always been good smart kids, and she has big dreams. If she needs our help she’ll ask, mijo.” The shine of worry was clear on her eyes, but Maria Elena couldn’t allow herself to think my differently. After the loss of her husband and a sharp decline in her health, things had to be ok. She couldn’t afford for them not to be. 

Jesús pulled himself from the couch, letting his blanket drag behind him until it came sliding free. The linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor were freezing beneath his bare feet, and he could feel his teeth knocking together as he made his way to the refrigerator.  
The orange juice carton had only brushed his lips when a sharp pain shot through his temples, lingering as an ache in his sinuses and behind his eyes.  
“F-fuck…”  
For a long moment nothing happened, nothing worsened and nothing lessened. 

He blinked, the tingling sensation behind his eyes suddenly becoming overwhelming.  
And in an instant it felt like he wasn’t in it his mother’s kitchen. 

The air smelled of smoke and old trash, and he clutched at his head while trying to discern the spinning world round him. A dark alley, the shimmer of blood on the pavement….  
Blink… the sound of low chatter and neon lights…  
Blink...mildew and the creaking of an old theater stage…  
“What the hell is happening, WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING!” His sister’s voice came from his lips when he felt them move of their own accord.  
Blink… the night sky above, the sound of a bell tinkling as a shop door swung open, hands on his shoulders as a low voice murmurs in his ears. It’s scared, but warm and comforting.  
Blink… a sharp pain in his stomach, like hunger.  
It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before,though, and oh god it hurts.  
He pulls his eyes closed and pushes back against the feeling of cold water on his skin and something red hot and metallic on his tongue.  
Blink…  
And then it’s over. 

His eyes flew open, and he could barely breathe hunched over half kneeling in the middle of the kitchen. He could taste bile and smell vomit, and hear his mother’s voice down the hall. “Mijo, are you ok?”  
He doesn’t respond out of fear since he might hurl again. 

Maria Elena was at her son’s side as fast as her bowed legs could carry her. Her hand was simply pushed away when she extended it to help him to hi feet.  
“I’m ok, I’m ok mamá” His furrowed eyebrows clearly read “no I most certainly did not puke all over the floor, and no I don’t wanna talk about it.”  
“What happened?” She asked, slowly as if she was afraid she might trip over her words.  
For a moment he weighed his options, and settled on giving her a soft smile. “Just a got dizzy and nauseous for a second there. Must’ve…”  
“Eaten something that turned your stomach?”  
“Yeah...yeah. I’m sure that’s it.” 

In truth, he wanted nothing more than to believe that what he knew to be true was just another child’s daydream.  
As he smiled and let his mother dote on him, he also couldn’t allow himself to think that this wasn’t the beginning of something...something he didn’t yet understand. 

(To be continued...)


	2. Our Lady of Sorrows

The sky above the city of Taw was a dull grey, thick with smog and storm clouds. The only refuge from the unending drone of voices and car engines was deeper in his thoughts, and Jesús was in far too deep.   
He could smell the frankincense at the cathedral doors, the oppressive reverence that came with childhood memories of the place clinging to the odor. The doors crooned like old birds as he entered, unsure of what he would do inside. 

It had been his mother’s nagging suggestion and he didn’t really have any desire to visit such a place of worship, but still he humored her.  
The Cathedral of Our Lady of Sorrows was a great domed building, walls painted a deep red that only made the flickering of candlelight seem that much darker. The rows of pews carved out of rich mahogany seemed like an empty stagnant sea with no people sitting in them, and the eyes of the tortured christ on the enormous crucifix over the altar seemed to follow him as he made his way in. His shoes thudded irreverently on the marble floor. 

God he hoped the priest wasn’t around to notice him. He didn’t want to talk to anybody, especially not any holier-than-thou snake oil salesman. 

“Hello my son, how may I help you today?”   
‘Fucking awesome’ “Uh, I just came to uh… clear my head…” His eyes linger on the white of his collar. “...father.”   
The priest smiles, his beady grey eyes shining in the low light. His hair was the color or dirt and greased back against his scalp, his jaw sharp as a razor.   
“This would be the place for that. Do you wish to have your confession heard?” When he smiles, and there’s something predatory about him, like a snarling dog. His incisors and canines are remarkably sharp.   
“Oh, no. No thank you, not today.”  
“You’ll feel better with whatever’s bothering you off your chest.” He lifts his spindly arms up in a lazy shrug.   
“I…. No, no thank you.”   
The priest purses his lips disapprovingly but doesn’t press further. “Then perhaps, something less formal?”   
Jesús’s willpower barely keeps him from rolling his eyes.   
“Look it’s just… hard when nobody’s there to back you up. I’m… there’s someone I’m worried about, someone I care about deeply, and nobody will help me make sure they’re okay,”   
“Hmm I see. If this a matter you’ve involved the police in?”   
Jesús simply sighs. 

The priest reaches out to place his spider-like fingers on his shoulder, and Jesús has to wrestle with his muscles to not flinch. The moment his oddly sharp nails touch the warm crook of his next, the boys eyes are blank.   
He swallows, and the flesh of this throat feels like sandpaper. There’s heat against his face, and a darkness in his mind, like thoughts clouded by ink drops in its tranquil waters. He’s falling, and he just... keeps falling.   
He lifts his eyes to the priest’s face, and for a moment the ink is all around his head like an aura. 

“Listen, father…”   
“Marcus. Father Marcus Silver. I’m sorry this troubles you so much Jesús, and I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” There is little reassurance to be taken from this, as his grip on his neck tightens with a squeeze. 

“Fear is… god's way making himself known to us. Some people look for signs and miracles and what not, but they ignore the true way he communicates with his flock. You fear something horrible is on the way, but don’t realize you’ve been… given a gift.”   
Father Silver’s eyes bore into his own, and Jesús can’t will himself to look away. The probing gaze is a violating one, feeling as though the hemispheres of his brain have been pulled apart for his thoughts to flow forth. 

“You’ve been allowed a snippet of God’s grand plan my son, and you should be happy with the….”  
The old man’s fingers are freezing but his palm is like a hot coal. Jesús is helpless as his vision bleeds red.  
“...true gift you’ve been given.” 

He recoils, stumbling over a pew and nearly falling onto the marble floor. Father Silver is over him in an instant, and he doesn’t wait to see whether the outstretched hand is trying to grab him or help him up.   
The priests mouth is an expressionless line, and he slumps slightly when the boy stands up sharply and makes distance between them.   
Jesús feels like he can’t breathe, and his tastes something foul in the air he sucks in. 

“Mr.Rodriguez?” The priests voice is even, and with one blink the red is gone from Jesús’s vision.   
It’s just a man, just a church… 

“I’m sorry, I should….” ‘ go before I embarrass myself further’. “Thank you for your time father.”

He practically sprinting for the doors, his lungs screaming for fresh air. Only briefly does he dwell on the fact he never told the old priest his name… 

 

Father Silver watches the boy go, his eyes open as wide as they’ll go in surprise.   
Once his outline is out of sight and the doors have crashed closed again, he huffs.   
“We’ll just have to work on that one, I suppose.”   
A smile tugs at the left corner of his thin mouth, and his whistles echo as he saunters off to vanish behind the altar. 

He only tosses a fleeting glance back at the grey silhouette watching the encounter from the cry room.


	3. Rusted Tabernacle

The smell of rot was thick beyond the basement door in the shadow of the rectory, but beyond the odor the door was nearly imperceivable in the dark corner.   
The brass handle was like ice beneath Father Silver’s palm. The stairs creaked painfully beneath his nice oxfords.   
The tunnels running beneath the cathedral had been there longer than the building itself had been, part decrepit mine shaft and part stone corridor, two bygone eras locked in uncomfortable embrace.   
His whistle bounced off the walls and danced around the sound of dripping water. 

He kept a relaxed gait, thinking perhaps it would help him…. keep the reigns. 

Flexing one hand in his pocket, he could feel the joints pulling back against his will. The air in his lungs gripped the soft flesh like it didn’t want to come forth… and if he concentrated hard enough he could hear the sound of teeth chewing at those alien thoughts populating his borrowed brain… 

“Father?” The whisper was far away, yet right beside him.   
Turning to face the room, hearing the vertebrae of his neck crunching with the strain, his eyes followed the sound to its wispy source.   
“Did anyone ever tell you if you don’t have anything constructive to say don’t say anything at all?” 

The grey form seemed to strengthen, lines becoming more distinct as the wraith came into the light with eyes startlingly wide, like his eyelids had been pinned up in his eyebrows. Their voice was no more than a murmur.   
“Isn’t it ‘something nice to say’?”   
“Well you won’t have anything nice or constructive to say either way, Matthias.” 

Those white orbs Matthias had for eyes slid slowly to look up, as if he could see through the floor. “I was wondering when you’d get the twinkle in your eye again, Berith.”  
“Why, whatever do you mean?” His smile was lined with shark teeth. 

“Though I must say it’s unlike you to get so excited over a dime-a-dozen empath like that boy.”   
“Well then you clearly have no eye for the bigger picture.” 

Father Silver stomped past the grey shadow, who merely flipped their long scraggly hair out of their face to watch him go. 

The tunnel wound down lower and lower, deeper into the earth. The air grew colder with each step.   
“Plan on sharing or am I going to have to find out myself?” A murmur followed him faintly, being the only indication that Matthias was following. 

“Empaths… are never just empaths, my friend.” 

The pair came to a halt; to their right etched into the stone the image of an Saint Michael the Archangel standing triumphantly over the agonized devil, and to their left a metal spiral staircase descending into the earth even further.   
Matthias seemed to flit out of existence, meeting Silver at the bottom. The pair hadn’t made the trek down in ages. For a moment he feared his key wouldn’t work in the ancient lock. 

Before them opened up a wide circular room, the size of the cathedral above and painted a similar blood red.   
The priest strode confidently up to the altar, extending his arms out to run his fingertips over the rusted tabernacle. It tingled as flesh met metal.   
The gold adorning the sacred receptacle was peeling off, and the cross on its top tilted like it might fall off. 

“We just… give him a little push.”

The door to the tabernacle slid open, and the two were suddenly drenched in a thick, oppressive yellow aura. 

Matthias hid their face, trying to hide their fear.


	4. Magic Mirror

It was a small miracle Maria Elena had been so close to the door when the sound of Jesús weight thudding against it broke the silence. She had been seated in her floral print armchair, glasses low on her nose and fingers flying around a half-knitted scarf. 

Keys jingled in the periphery of her awareness, followed by the sound of her son swearing softly under his breath. The sun was dipping behind the horizon, and she was relieved to know he wasn’t out wandering again. Taw was far from safe at night. 

The happiness was short lived as she was greeted by a muffled crash and a sharp cry, and she was on her feet as fast as she could get. She was sure she had never opened the door so quick in her life. “Mijo?”

Jesús was conscious still, but his eyes were wide and wild. He held one hand over his mouth and clutched the keys in the other, metal teeth digging into the soft skin of his fingers. She could see a shimmer of crimson dripping down from his ear…

Jesús could hear his mother’s fearful scolding, but couldn’t see through the the yellow fog that seemed to descend over his vision. He looked up at his mother only to see a gaunt face staring down, deep onyx pools where her eyes were, and he couldn’t think at all.   
Blink… and then it was clear.   
Blink...and he was on his feet being pulled inside.

“Jesús, this has gone on long enough!”   
“W-what?”   
She tilted her head incredulously, and he wondered if he ought to duck to avoid the swing of her hand. “What happened to my good little angelito, huh? What have you gotten yourself into now that's robbed me of my little boy?”  
“Nothing mamá, I don't...I’m fine. I swear.”   
“And now he’s lying to me! Ay dios,what did I do to deserve this…”  
He watches his mother throw up her hands in defeat ,feeling a deep pit of regret form in his stomach.  
What was he supposed to say? The past few weeks had felt like a dream, and he really wasn’t sure what answer he could supply her.   
“Mamá, I just need… I just need some real rest ok?”  
For a moment she is angry, but it melts away into a look of pity. “I’m sure mijó, I’m sorry.” Her hand is warm on his cheek.   
“Why don’t you go up and rest, yeah? It’s late.”   
“Sure, mamá.” He sighs. “I love you.”  
“Te amo mucho, angelito.” 

 

The water ran cold out of the tap, and was almost painful on his cheeks as Jesus fills his cupped palms and splashes it over his face.  
There is nothing he wants more than clarity, but such a concept seems all too distant. He remembers his sister smiling and telling him that everything would be alright, he simply needed to ground himself again.  
“Focus on the tangible. You’re getting lost in your thoughts.” Her voice is clear in his memory, optimistic and bright. The taste of toothpaste, the smell of air freshener trying to be lavender, the sound of Listerine splashing in the bottle as he grabs it….

He leans down, spitting in the sink and rinsing his mouth.

When he came back to standing straight, every muscle in his body tensed at once in surprise. Oval mirror hanging before him was no longer a solid surface, but seemed to ripple like water, bubbles like separated oil sliding over the surface. The yellow fog had returned, but danced and intertwined with wisps of purple and blue, and he watched as his reflection sank away into a dark and unfamiliar room. A little voice in the back of his mind told him to reach out, to push through and to grab whatever was on the other side, but fear gripped him too tight.  
The Voice came through first, a woman with an unplaceable accent screaming at him. No, she wasn’t yelling at him. There was a man screaming too, his cries sharp with pain he could almost feel himself.  
The longer he looked more the smoke cleared, and he could make out for just a brief moment an unfamiliar room perhaps furnished like an upscale hotel draped in vermillion and royal blue. It was all so fleeting he couldn’t tell for sure, but he could see four crouched figures,   
three surrounding the limp form of the fourth. The face, lifeless and gray like he had seen it in his dreams, was so familiar it made his heart stop.

His sister, his darling twin sister, lay unresponsive in the arms of a sobbing stranger only for a moment before the scene vanished. One word flooded his consciousness, her voice no longer soft and comforting as it rang out so loud he swore he was in the same room as her. His own name, spoken like a revelation….

‘Jesús’. 

His breath became short, and he was helpless as his eyes rolled back up into his skull and every joint seemed to lock as he fell onto the hard linoleum floor.


	5. Sins of the Father

Jesús was sure he had never been so dizzy in his whole life.  
The kitchen spun like a merry-go-round, slow and steady, and the only relief came when he let his head rest against the wood of the dining table. It was cool against his temple, and he felt grounded when leaning steadily on it. Some time had passed since his fall and he was sure he ought to be more concerned….but such worries didn’t stick long as he sat listening. His thoughts spun too fast. 

The house was silent, creaking and groaning as the wind picked up outside, but the longer he sat still the more unnerved he became. He felt...open. Vulnerable.  
If he listened hard enough he could hear his mother’s soft snoring and the sound of crickets outside. 

Standing cautiously, he crossed the room with a hand outstretched toward the sink. The cool water felt good on his cheeks, and he sighed with relief as he was more able to hold his eyes open. He snagged a dish rag of the counter, and backed out onto the back porch, pushing open the screen door with his shoulder. 

The backyard was as dark as the lights of Taw would allow, and for a moment he simply stood listening to the drone of cars and dogs barking. Despite there no longer being any child inhabitants, the yard was littered with old sun-bleached toys and playground equipment. A once-brightly colored plastic slide made a perfect seat now that he was no longer as tall as it was. He let the wind sweep his hair out of eyes and did his best to not think about the pulsing pain in his head.  
Let alone with his thoughts, he couldn’t push back the childish desire he’d wrestled with since he was young….

His father’s face, smiling and round, was hazy in his memory. Rafael Rodriguez had been a man of little complexity, with a one-track mind and a simple life. He had been a handyman his entire adult life, from a painter to a plumber, and he was the kind to thrive off routine.  
He went to bed at eight every night, woke with the sun and napped at noon. He used tortillas as spoons and only drank beer on the weekends. He braided Adelita’s hair before school, and gave Jesús a lopsided bowl cut when he asked for it short.  
When Rafael vanished, rumors spread he had been unfaithful, and Jesús had been crushed. His sister had gotten a severe talking to when she began referring to him as “the bastard” after overhearing it from one of their mother’s gossipy friends, but he had stayed silent. Neighbors and friends claimed to see him around, but Jesús refused to believe any of it.  
“What if he’s hurt, or in trouble? Are we going to look for him?” 

Jesús sniffled, running his the back of his hand under his nose. Having traded his contacts for his glasses, he allowed himself to rub at his eyes until he saw little stars pop in his periphery. His heart felt like it was being tugged down toward the earth, heavy chains pulling it down into the dirt. The fear of his whole family vanishing one by one had manifested after his father left, and now with Lita gone…. this couldn’t be happening. It was all too much. If he focused enough, if he let his mind free for a moment, the feeling of corpse-cold ice water filled the space behind his ribs and a hot, roiling hunger poked at his guts. If he conjured the image of his twin in his memory, a black void would take the place of her face. 

God, he wanted to talk to his father. He wanted to talk to his sister. He wanted to tell his mother…. everything. He wanted someone to tell him what the fuck was going on.  
Clasping a hand over his mouth, he let only a choked sob escape. 

 

Matthias watched the scene from afar, his pale grey eyes peeping over the fence. Merely a grey wisp, he feared the boy would sense his presence but his focus… his aura, his reach…. was scattered like pieces of a broken mirror. For a moment he considered opening his mouth and yelling out, but what words would be worth the expenditure of so much energy? The good Father had a plan, and who was little old Matthias to interject?  
“My this is going to be…. something else….”


	6. Mother's Masks

Maria Elena had always expected something to go awry.  
While it was absurd to even consider resentment a possibility, she could not deny the fear that had seated itself in her mind the day her twins were born. They had both been sickly infants, born prematurely and more fragile than most, and there were points where the possibility of losing one or both of them seemed to loom closer and closer. Rafael had never let a dark though cross his mind and she truly admired that in him, and now as she sat alone in her room she fought to adopt such a mindset. 

The fading, dull light of late evening streamed in her window, giving her room a cold blue aura as she sat at the edge of her bed with none of her lights turned on. She swallowed down her fear, yanking her thoughts back from the cliff’s edge of panic.  
There wasn’t a moment she didn’t think about her daughter, her soul crying out in agony at the certainty of the inevitable misfortune she had foreseen when the girl had been born. She could recall with complete clarity the moment Adelita had been handed to her… the girl herself was like any other, a gentle and inquisitive soul, but she could see the flecks of black in her halo. The moment had been fleeting, but the cold that settled in her bones was an unmistakable sign. She wanted nothing more than to break the silence, shatter the barrier between her and her offspring, and let the truth be known...but the promise had been made.  
Nobody knew her face, and if she even put a toe back into the that world there would be no moving back. There would be no reconciliation now should her beloved Lita know the truth.  
The knowledge that her child was most likely dead….or worse….brought bile up into her throat and hot tears to her eyes. She couldn’t imagine how it must be for her son. 

She blew out a heavy sigh, pushing away the thought of a timer ticking down. It was any day now before he would….

No, no no. What was she thinking? There she went again…  
She was on her feet before she could think about the action, pacing the small room like a caged animal.  
Would it have changed anything had she questioned...if she had kept the twins close?  
Was it her place to challenge the fate she had seen?

Her closet was cluttered and dusty, but her hands moved without her mind’s guidance.  
From beneath piles of average living and unfolded unironed clothes she pulled free an old memory...a locked oak and rosewood box adorn with swirling gold designs.  
She could simply slide it back, and leave old wounds closed, but there was little stopping her willful maternal instinct now. Her daughter was gone, and her son was slated for a possibly worse fate. Her mind was a foggy moor as she yanked the key from the thin chain around her neck, metal grinding against metal as she fought with the lock.  
She had run from this, what was she doing? 

The box was lined with red velvet and smelled its age, the wistful odor of paper decaying and ink smudging away. Stacks of letters once neat and organized now sat it a great crumpled pile, and she had to dig through them to reach what she needed, and she grit her teeth at the sight of the signatures concluding messages she wished to forget.  
‘Thank you….warm wishes...sincerely, Ivy Reyes’

 

What was done was done, she didn't wear that face anymore….

Glittering beneath the papers, glinting like a hungry cat’s eyeshine, she could she the ruby and dark wood handle of a very large knife. The blade, wrapped in a leather sheath, was the size of her forearm like a small sword. For a moment she held back, a voice calling through the fog in a last ditch effort at normalcy. She could put it back, she could wallow in her grief but remain in this life...this mundane facade of someone she wanted to be.  
Her husband, her children….she wanted to remain the woman they thought her to be. 

Pulling the blade free, deep black obsidian the color of starless space occupied her attention like few things did.  
An old friend. 

Sliding it back into the sheath and wrapping it in a soft cream-white handkerchief, the blade vanished into her blue faux leather purse. Though her eyes were distant and empty, there was a determination there too, an old emotion moving back to the forefront.  
Perhaps they were going to find out anyway, perhaps not. It didn’t matter. 

For now she was just, Maria Elena Rodriguez, a woman just like the next.  
For now.


End file.
